Sunday, March 03, 2013

maxie

The
ambulance lurches alarmingly along the track.

‘Good
job this guy’s not a spinal injury,’ says Rae, wrestling with the steering wheel.
‘Although he probably will be after a ride in the back.’

There’s
a raw, untamed feel to everything out here. The hawthorn trees all bend over in
the direction of the prevailing wind; there’s an agricultural dump of rusting
tractor parts, bags of sand, butane canisters, all piled up out of sight
beneath a ragged clump of elderberry; a steel container with the door rusted
open – a crude scattering of stuff, like a whole community decamped in a hurry
and chucked what it no longer needed.

Todd
still lives in the workmen’s cottage he was born in, one of an isolated group
of four, at the far end of the track. An ancient sheepdog is waiting for us at
the door. She watches us climb out of the ambulance, then turns to show us into
the tiny front room. It’s a jolt to see that she only has three legs.

Todd is
sitting on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the lounge. The countless
fires he’s lit in the fireplace have left a great pile of ash and cinder that
spill out over the hearth. Maxie goes up to Todd, rests her head in his lap,
accepts a stroke, then goes to take up her place again in her basket by the
Rayburn heater.

Todd has
abdo pain, low down, into his groin. Despite his stoical outlook, it’s
obviously causing him some problems. After checking him over we decide to take
him to hospital; the fact that he agrees to come without arguing is a sign that
there’s definitely something wrong.

‘Could
you just go upstairs and give my boy Charlie a knock? He should be out of bed
by now. He works all night, you see. On the old compooters.’

One last
fuss for Maxie, and we take a slow walk back out to the truck.

***

‘Maxie’s
a lovely dog’ I say to Todd, putting the paperwork aside as we rattle back
along the track. ‘How long’ve you had her, then?’

‘Oh - since she were a pup. She’s been a working
dog all her life – just like her parents, and her parents before that. She’s
called Maxie, because her Dad was called Max. She’s been a great little dog.
Very smart. She’d be out all day with me, dawn till dusk. I was a stockman, you
see. I had to get up at three, milk a hundred and sixty head of cow, then it
was back here for breakfast, and on with the day. She was the best sheepdog I
ever had. Almost magical, the way she understood what was needed. I remember
one winter morning, the snow was up to here, she went straight out and brought them
all down to the yard before I’d even got my boots on. She just sat there, shaking
off the snow, with this expression on her face like: Come on, lazy bones! Let’s get this over with!’

‘So how
did she lose her leg?’

‘You’ll
never believe it – but it was an adder.’

‘An
adder?’

‘An
adder. A beautiful thing, but deadly dangerous. It was hiding in a rabbit hole,
and it reared up and bit her on the leg as she ran past. Well, you should’ve
seen it. The leg went all swollen and black. She was in terrible pain – the skin
was almost falling off. So this vet, new she was, she took one look and she
said: The only thing that’s going to save
Maxie is for that leg to come off. So I said: On you go, then. So she took
it off. And she was right, you know. And after a while Maxie didn’t seem to miss
it. She just got on with things. Well they do, don’t they? Animals.’

‘I must
admit I’ve never seen an adder.’

‘No? Well
they’re a sight, I’ll tell you that for nothing. The last time I saw one I was
fishing on the river bank with Maxie right next to me. Next thing you know she’s
sitting bolt upright, pointing with her nose at something in the middle of the
stream. And there it was – an adder, swimming along proud as you like, with its
head held high. They’ve got this V on their heads, you know, just like someone
drew an arrow with a marker pen, pointing in the direction they’re going. We
just sat there watching as it reached the bank, wiggled out, then disappeared
into the grass. We kept well away from it, though. ‘specially Maxie.’

Hi tpalsI'm pretty sure the adder is our only poisonous snake, and then only mildly. Small children and elderly people would be more at risk, but everyone else it'd just be a painful episode.

He was a lovely guy. Obviously spent a life working incredibly hard. It was striking how the environment had changed around him, though. The big farm the cottages used to serve had closed and been broken up. The herds of animals had gone. Just Todd and his dog... and his son upstairs, 'working on compooters'.

The only other adder bite I'd heard of (in an ambulance context) was a guy who worked in an adder rescue centre. So I take it from that they're not such a general risk. (His hand became swollen and painful - a/bios &c).

Thanks for the link. ps What's the difference between NHS Direct and NHS Choices? I probably should know.... :/